


Immortal Blood

by Colvinus



Series: The Voice of Winter [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Author will Edit to fix Errors, Daggerfall Reputation Systems, Elder Scrolls Lore, Gen, Lore-accurate Thu'um, Melodramatic Dragonborn, Nordic Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colvinus/pseuds/Colvinus
Summary: Tolan was cold. Why had he followed Adavald? Why hadn’t he gone to Isran? They had to be further in. In Dimhollow. The wind was cold. The Hall was embers now. His gauntlets were lined with fur. He should be in Rift, warning Isran. There was a shout along the wind. The fur was cold. Was that blood along the rocks?A retelling of the Dawnguard DLC for Skyrim.
Series: The Voice of Winter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100297
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter One

Tolan was cold. Why had he followed Adavald? Why hadn’t he gone to Isran? They had to be further in. In Dimhollow. The wind was cold. The Hall was embers now. His gauntlets were lined with fur. He should be in Rift, warning Isran. There was a shout along the wind. The fur was cold. Was that blood along the rocks?

“Lord of Mercy,” his voice quivered like a boy in his first winter, “guide me to your Justice.” His hands were shaking. His fingers’ steel grinded against the hammer’s weight. He couldn’t hear the rest of his prayer. It was lost along the crashing wind.

Tolan was cold. He had to go. Adavald was in there. With vampires. Why hadn’t he gone to Isran? Carcette was dead. They were all dead. Why hadn’t they listened. His friends were ash now. Or- or thralls.

“Divines.” Tolan was scared. He hadn’t been afraid for so long. His feet wouldn’t budge. Foot grinded against snow. Not his foot. What?

A voice came along the wind, “what are you doing out here, kinsman?” It was deep. Like his father’s. Oh, Father. Tolan looked, and gasped out a breath he had been holding for so long. Too long. It wasn’t a vampire. He wasn’t.

The blinding snow parted around him like salmon around river rocks. He was no giant, but he felt taller than the tallest tree. He wore the armor of a Nord. His armor was lined with dark scales, plated with ebon and silver. His helm had horns, tall horns, like the warriors in his mother’s stories. He had a beard. It was red. Red like blood.

Everything tilted. Tolan was falling. Then he wasn’t. The Warrior’s grip was steely. He brought Tolan up from the snow as if he was but a bag of grain.

“You’re a Vigilant?” Tolan felt himself nod, “you’re in shock. Look at me.” Tolan looked back up. He felt ashamed to do it. The Warrior’s eyes were starlight, blue as ice and bright as the sun. Tolan was falling again. Except he wasn’t. Why wasn’t he falling?

The Warrior looked at him for a long time, “I see.” He saw what? Tolan felt himself lowered to the ground, “sit here for a while. Take my cloak.” What cloak? The Warrior draped a cloak over him.

“Once you’ve calmed, go to Morthal. Ask for Falion, he’ll know who sent you. Rest for a while. Then go on your way.” What? But Adavald- “I’ll make sure your friend is safe, or buried. You’ll know which. Don’t come after me. The Volkihar would tear a whelp like you to pieces.” The what?

“Vampires.” Oh. The Warrior disappeared into the shadows. But Tolan hadn’t said anything.

Maybe he should go to Morthal.

Tolan wouldn’t remember Isran, or the Dawnguard until a week after.

He never saw Adavald again.

∞

Serana was dreaming. She’d been dreaming for a long time. It felt like a long time. It had been a long while since the dream became lucid. Or she thought so, at least.

She stood on the plains of Whiterun (though she had never been in truth). She saw King Gjukar leading his men into battle against Mirmulnir, the dragon-lord of Blakmur. It was one of her favorite stories. Gjukar had been a great Tongue, a king of Men. He was just and fair, and treated his daughters well. Gjukar shouted Mirmulnir from the plains, and the dragon fled to the mountains, disappearing from mortal eyes.

All of a sudden, everything began to shift. The air was the first thing she recognized. It was still and tough. Serana was falling. Then she wasn’t. She was held by hand. It was warm. Serana was awake now. The way she stumbled back wasn’t as elegant as she would have liked. It was a man who had touched her. He wasn’t like her.

“Unh…” Serana felt a pain in her eyes, she’d only had the coffin’s darkness to contend for so long. Then she looked at her… savior. He was waiting. What was he waiting for? He had an axe. A dagger, too, on his hip. Where was Mother?

“Where is…” oh, he was waiting for her, “who sent you here?” He didn’t respond, at least not immediately. His arms were crossed. He looked her up and down once or twice, frowned, and let out a sigh longer than she would have liked.

“No one sent me.” His voice was deep. Like a Nord’s. Of course he sounded like a Nord. He was a Nord. He didn’t smell like one, though. How did her spine shiver? Was that even possible?

Well, at least the Nord wasn’t lying (as far as Serana could tell), “then… Ugh, my head. Then… who are you?”

“You are Volkihar.” That was what woke her up. How did he-? “I met one of your line. Your dress is similar.”

Then he was- Serana snapped up to stare at the Nord, and bared her fangs, “how did you know that I was thinking?!” He didn’t seem impressed.

“You aren’t very subtle, for a vampire.” He didn’t so much as twitch as he said it. The Nord hadn’t answered her question either, “I am Sigurd, Son of Sigmund. Sworn Harbinger of the Companions, and Thane of Whiterun.”

Serana’s eyes went wide. If he was a Harbinger, that would explain why he wasn’t- that didn’t matter. He was waiting for her to speak. Again.

“I… I am Serana, of the Volkihar.” She might have bowed, like her mother had taught her, but the Harbinger didn’t seem like the type to care.

“You have an Elder Scroll.” She did, didn’t she. _Damnit,_ _M_ _other_.

She pushed her thoughts down, “rude. I thought you’d have more tact, for a Thane.”

“An unfortunate trait. Perhaps I’d be more inclined to diplomacy if you hadn’t attempted to intimidate me. Quite poorly, I might say.” He spoke like a Thane.

“I’m sure women love you.”

“Only so much,” was that a jest? “If you’re going to attack me, I’d recommend against it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” The Harbinger began to look around the crypt. She followed his gaze: the northern exit had collapsed.

“Good, come along then.” He began to walk away. Wait, what?

Serana yelled after him, “aren’t you going to interrogate me?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” _Oh, that-_ he was still walking, “I would suggest you follow me if you’d like to leave this place.”

Serana caught up to the Harbinger, “I thought you were going to ask me about the Scroll.”

“I was simply confirming its identity.”

“You won’t try to take it?” Serana didn’t think mortals could walk as fast as he was.

“I have no need for another.” Serana stopped dead (alive?) in her tracks.

“You… have… an Elder Scroll?” All she received was a curt ‘yes’ from the Harbinger, “how did you get it?” _If he took it from Mother…_

“How did you get yours?”

“You said you wouldn’t ask about it!”

“Well that was before-” Serana stuck her arm in front of him. The fool (he wasn’t one) was about to walk into her mother’s gargoyles. Sigurd (Serana was calling him Sigurd now) gave her a look.

Serana pointed, and the gargoyles roared to life.


	2. Chapter Two

Magicka roared through her veins. Serana hadn’t felt it in… how long had she been asleep? There were two of them. Gargoyles were fast, they would have to- Sigurd’s fist went through the one closest to them. Serana looked in shock. No man was that strong, surely.

He turned to the other, and spoke, “ _VO, LAH, DUR_.” The second one collapse, its enchanted stone falling apart in an instant.

She was wide-eyed, now, “ _You’re a Tongue?_ ” (Serana had never met a Tongue before. She’d only hear of them in stories. Her father hated those ones.)

“What did you take me for? A Sword-Singer?” Sigurd (why was she calling him Sigurd?) said with an eyebrow raised.

“No, I just thought-” that he was afraid of her (she didn’t really think that, only wanted it), “never mind, let’s keep moving.”

Soon they were deeper into Dimhollow than she had been when she arrived. The tunnels were ancient. Nordic. It smelled like flesh. Dead flesh. There was magic too; its aura was overwhelming. _Mother’s then. A ward?_

Sigurd stuck his arm out, this time, “draugr, up ahead. They’re up and about. Likely to protect this place. I’ll handle it.” He made a signal for her to stay as he ventured forth. She ignored it.

“What do you mean ‘I’ll handle it?!’” Serana tried to impress his voice. It came out wrong.

“I don’t need you antagonizing them.”

“ _Antagonizing draugr?_ Are you mad?” What kind of ridiculous-

“Antagonizing victims of Necromancy,” his voice was dead serious, “I’m sure you’ve sensed the aura around this place. It’s a curse.” _Mother would do something like that_.

“And how you do suppose to do that, then?” Why would he care?

“I’m a Tongue, remember?” Serana remembered what Sigurd did to the gargoyle.

“I’m coming with you.” All she received was a grunt. _Figures. Men…_ The smell got worse, and suddenly they had approached a… cavern. Atrium? It was a large chamber. Like the arenas in Cyrodiil she had read about, albeit with more sharper angles. They were draugr everywhere. Sitting. Waiting for something. There was a throne overlooking them. A draugr sat there as well. He looked… lordly.

For whatever reason, Serana stayed behind as Sigurd walked down to the stage. He seemed more like a jurist pleading his case than a warrior then. The draugr all moved their heads as one; their eyes bared down on the Harbinger.

Then, Sigurd spoke, “ _HON_ _ZU_ _’_ _U_ _,_ _KUL DO SHOR,_ ” and the room shook, “ _HI LOST LAHNEY PRUZAH_ ,” Serana trembled, “ _AHRK VOTH ZIN_ ,” the draugr did not, “ _ZU’U_ _GAAR HI WAH SOVNGARDE_ ,” he was not loud like Father had been (towards Mother), “ _AHRK OFAAL HIN DUR NOL HI_ ,” his volume was kingly, “ _ZU’U LOS YSMIR_.”

The draugr’s eyes dimmed until they held no light.

∞

The girl (a voice in Sigurd’s head, that sounded like too much like Kodlak, pointed out that she was like to be far older than him) seemed wary of the fire. It was to be expected, Sigurd supposed. Though he hadn’t expected her to ask for his aid in returning to her home. She seemed capable enough, even if he hadn’t yet seen her in battle.

‘ _I’m not totally sure if I can trust you, but you haven’t tried to kill me. And… I need your help to get back to my family’s home.’_ Sigurd had never been one to turn down a request for aid, ‘ _my family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do.’_

He had caught three hares. Two were enough for the night. Sigurd tossed the largest into the fire.

“An offering?” The girl, _Serana_ , asked.

Sigurd hummed. _Rather a Nord vampire than an Elf. Or, Shor forbid, a Breton_.

“To who?”

“Jhunal, I’d think.”

“For his totem, right?” Sigurd’s brow raised. He hadn’t expected- _she is a vampire, lad_ , said not-Kodlak.

“Yes.” There was silence for a moment, then an idea, “when were you sealed?”

A beat.

“Good question. Hard to say, I… can’t really tell. I feel like was a long time,” _that much is obvious_ , “Who is Skyrim’s High King?” Sigurd’s other brow raised. Few dated by reigns anymore.

“It’s a matter of debate.” Was what Sigurd left it at.

“A war of succession. Wonderful. Good to know people didn’t get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?”

“Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm vies for the throne against Jarl Elisif of Solitude. Balgruuf, of Whiterun, has yet to declare for either.”

“I’ve… never heard of them. So you’re independent?”

“Doubly so, aye. As Harbinger, I’m obliged to stay out.” Serana nodded at that.

“Who supports them?”

“The Pale, Winterhold and the Rift have declared for Ulfric. Elisif is backed by Hjaalmarch and Falkreath, and by the Reach- only in words, though; the Empire supports her bid as well.”

Serana’s pale brow furrowed, “Empire? What… what empire?”

 _Alright then_ , “ _the_ Empire. From Cyrodiil.”

“Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire? I must have been gone longer than I thought. Definitely longer than we planned. I need to get home so I can figure what happened.”

“We’ll set out at first light, then.”

∞

The Castle was less elegant than Serana remembered. The tower was crumbling. The moat bridge was falling apart, and the walls were covered in overgrowth. It looked… abandoned. Serana scowled, _probably by design_. Sigurd was unperturbed by the sea-wind, and seemed less than impressed by the Castle.

“It didn’t always look like this.” Serana hadn’t meant to say that, “I mean!” Sigurd looked back, “before we go in there…”

“Yes?” Serana wanted to sigh, _of course he’d say that_.

“I know that…” _you’ll try to kill Father the moment he opens his mouth_ , “you’d probably like to kill everyone in there. But I’m hoping you can show more control than that. Once we’re inside, just keep quiet for a bit. Let me take the lead. And then, once this is all over, you can leave and we’ll go our separate ways.” In some part of her, Serana cringed at that. _We aren’t friends. He’s just been tolerating me for… I have no idea._

“… Alright. Lead the way then.” _That went easier than expected_. Serana walked, and Sigurd followed. The gate was closed, and next-

“Begone, you’re not welcome here!” A thrall. Elderly. A watchman?

Serana dropped her hood, “I am-”

The Watchman gasped, “Lady Serana’s back! Open the gate!” And so they (thralls, Serana assumed) did, and the gate opened to reveal the Castle doors. Serana pressed her hands against them; they felt heavier than they used to.

The Altmer, Vingalmo, leaned against the lobby walls. He saw Sigurd first (Serana bristled at that), “How dare you trespass here!” Sigurd didn’t seem to care.

A beat, “wait… Serana? Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes! My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!” Vingalmo ushered them to enter the hall.

_I guess I’m expected._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any wondering: Sword-Singers are a class of Yoku (Redguard) warriors similar to Tongues that utilize tonal magick to do anime-esque sword moves.
> 
> See https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Sword-singers for more information.


	3. Chapter Three

Sigurd had expected the smell. Blood, and too much of it. _Promises made_. He hadn’t expected their keep to be as decrepit as it appeared. Vampires had enough time to clean up after themselves, Sigurd assumed.

The hall’s ceiling was quite tall, on its floor two benches led up to a high table (at it was a lord’s chair); the vampires were-

“My long last daughter returns at last. I trust you have my Elder Scroll?” _Lord Volkihar._ He was a Nord of middling height, dark of hair, and in possession of a voice more appropriate of a Breton or the Altmer who had led them.

Serana was already down the stairs as Sigurd approached, “after all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me? Yes, I have the scroll?” _She’s uneasy_.

“Of course I’m delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?” The vampires were eating human remains ( _of course_ , said not-Kodlak). “Ah, if only your traitor mother were here, I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.” One of them had a thrall on the table. _You made a promise_ , not-Kodlak whispered.

“Now tell me, who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?” His axe hand itched to answer him. _Agreements are sacred things, you know_. Sigurd was beginning to dislike not-Kodlak (Sigurd didn’t like that).

“This is my savior, the one who freed me,” Serana answered.

The vampire then turned to face Sigurd, “for my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name?”

Sigurd briefly considered punching him, “I am Sigurd, Son of Sigmund.”

“Well met.” _His nose would look well crooked_ , “I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are.”

 _Obviously_ , “you’re vampires.” Sigurd knew about their bloodline; Harkon didn’t need to know that.

“Not just vampires. We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim.” _That isn’t saying much_. “For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world.” He was monologuing. “All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most.” _Why are they always like this_. “But alas, you have done me a great service, and now you must be rewarded.” _Gods damn it_. “There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter. I offer you my blood.” _Of course_. “Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep.” _You can’t come up with a better comparison, really?_ “Men will tremble at your approach,” _that already happens_ , “and you will never fear death again!”

∞

Serana waited with bated breath (she didn’t have to breathe, though). Everyone else was, too.

Sigurd had been silent for a while. Father seemed to think that was a good thing, considering his (awful) grin. Serana _knew_ that was a bad thing, considering the times when Sigurd had gone silent during the journey back (she shuddered to think of what Sigurd had done to a roadside thief).

 _Please don’t say anything stupid_.

“… And if I refuse your gift?” _Fuck_.

Father frowned, “then you will be prey, like all mortals.” _Really._ “I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this hall.”

Magicka began to swirl around Father. “Perhaps you still need convincing?” _Oh, no_. “Behold the power!” Serana hated the transformation (the blood that came out of it, most of all). Sigurd didn’t seem to like it either

“This is the power that I offer!” Father (now looking more like a Daedra than a man) stalked up to Sigurd (who was silent. Again). “Now, make your choice!"

It was for the first time that Serana noticed how tall Sigurd was. Father grew at least half-a-pertan when he transformed. It was quite absurd, seeing Sigurd hold a (still unimpressed) leveled stare with a Vampire Lord.

Sigurd closed the distance with Father (their chests were almost touching). Serana felt a lot like giggling, as Father had seemed to realize the nature of the situation (she had never seen Father’s eyes widen like that, especially in that form).

“Let me make one thing clear, _Volkihar_.” Sigurd’s voice filled the room (far better than Father’s had.) “I have been so far peaceable with you and your ilk out of deference to your daughter.” Why did that have to make Serana swell? “But make no mistake, I hold no interest in being a puppet to the Lord of Lies.” Father grimaced. _How does Sigurd know about that?_

“I shall leave this place of my own accord,” Sigurd turned to walk away, but he looked back for a moment (his starlit eyes boring into Father’s pitch ones), “and if I ever see you again, you will die as surely as the Sun sets in the evening, and rises at morn.”

Sigurd walked out. For a while, the hall was silent like death.

∞

The Four Shields Tavern was a nice enough inn. The innkeeper, Faida, was a Nord (fair, too), and had let him stay the night for free, though he was well enough to pay (“I can’t rightly charge you, sir. Lord. Harbinger. Dragonborn. Lord Harbinger Dragonborn?”); that she had a Breton for an apprentice was his only complaint, unvoiced though it was.

The mead was good too. Honningbrew. Sabjorn was of a good sort, though his voice was a bit grating (too much like an Imperial). And it was free (“No no no, it’s all on the house!”). It was better to pay for things. He downed the mead quick, though.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let the Kel go to the vampires. Sigurd shook his head, there would by time enough to-

“Excuse me inkeep, might you know where one might find an Icewater Point?” It was an elder’s voice. Sigurd turned. A Moth Priest. It was easy to tell by the armor (metal and gilded) of the two legionaries that flanked him.

_Shit._

Before Faida could answer the Priest, Sigurd cleared his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any wondering: a pertan is a unit of measurement mentioned in the in-game book, the Pig Children.

**Author's Note:**

> For any wondering: Blakmur is a corruption of Blackmoor, one of Skyrim's towns in The Elder Scrolls: Arena. King Gjukar is a reference to Gjukar's Monument, an in-game location.


End file.
